Seized
by corneroffandom
Summary: Seth's desperation to earn Dean's forgiveness leads them down an unforeseen path.


Things aren't working. Seth has tried. He's been cheerful, smiling until his face ached, he's been sincere and apologetic, staring at Dean with wide brown eyes that would ordinarily make anyone melt. He's saved Dean from attacks and been saved in return, he's helped him win matches, been by his side through losses. No matter what he does, Dean refuses to accept him. His friendship. It hurts in a way Seth hasn't in a long time, worse even than when he feared he'd miss a second Wrestlemania due to his knee.

He thinks the last time he's felt this _low_ is while trapped in the middle, listening to Dean and Roman argue nonstop back when they were in the so-called glory days of the Shield, kicking ass and taking names but unable to spend five minutes together in a car or hotel room before at each other's throats. But now, this, here, is just he and Dean rubbing each other raw night after night, Seth wanting to get along and Dean having absolutely none of it.

And it's showing. Cesaro and Sheamus, they're friends, they get along in and out of the ring and it's telling in their crisp tag team moves and how well they know each other, barely needing to speak before moving together perfectly to take out Dean, then Seth. Seth grits his teeth as Cesaro forces him to his feet, and then realizes that Cesaro is holding something out to him. Is saying something vicious and cold. "You know what to do with one of these, don't you?!" he yells into Seth's face, shaking a steel chair before him. "Should be easy, like riding a bike. Just hoist it up and let it fly. Make Ambrose pay for stringing you along all of these months! I know you want to, Seth! Just like the good old days!"

Sheamus is laughing, holding Dean up, and his head is slumped forward, but Seth thinks he can probably hear all of this. Is imagining Seth standing before him, steel chair in hand, prepared to repeat the actions of all of those years ago. "No!" he snaps, not caring what this means for him, but just needing Dean to know, no matter what, Seth isn't falling for their bait. He's not the same man he was a few years back.

Cesaro seems _disappointed_ in him, still holding the chair, and Seth realizes with sickening clarity that his refusal means nothing for himself- but it means _a lot_ for Dean because it's not Seth Cesaro is looking at with murderous intent, no... Sheamus laughs again, hoisting Dean up just a few inches more, his feet almost dangling off of the mat as he stands there, limp and motionless, and Seth sees it all so clearly- a concussion or something worse from an unprotected chair shot to the head, Dean's career put on hold... All of the studies out there about CTE flashing through his mind, Seth grits his teeth and waits, hopes that he can move in time, that he can do _something_ to stop this...

Cesaro swings, Seth leaps, and everything moves so fast that he's not sure what just happened. If his actions have done anyone any good at all.

-x

Dean can hear. He can feel. But everything is muffled, broken into pieces by pain. He can hear Cesaro trying to convince Seth to take a chair, use it on him, _like before,_ and Sheamus' muffled, hot puff of laughter against the back of his neck. He's not standing on his own for a few minutes but then Sheamus lets him go and he hovers there, barely with it but finding the strength somehow to lift his head, face what's coming... in time to see Cesaro swing the chair wide, hard, right at his head, and- there's a blur of black, Seth's dark eyes locked on his for a moment, and he feels himself being pushed back desperately, his back impacting with the turnbuckle pads.

It sounds like a gunshot, almost, and Dean can't make sense of it, Seth still standing before him, looking pale and almost etheral in the bright lights overhead. Then reality imposes itself once more, time speeding up again, and Seth's breathing sounds weird over the crowd's confused, worried buzzing, then his knees buckle and he's dropping to the mat in front of Dean, Cesaro frozen and staring at the badly dented chair in his hands, the rim of it almost warped beyond recognition. All Dean can do is watch, watch as Seth kneels on the mat and then sways, falling face first at his feet.

It takes him a dumb amount of time to realize Seth isn't just twitching- he's full on seizing, his body jerking this way and that. Even Sheamus looks unsettled as Dean drops quickly, unsure what to do but certain that Seth being on his front is _bad, bad,_ bad. Grips his shoulders and rolls him over onto his side despite the shakes working against him. He braces Seth and looks up as EMTs and trainers finally arrive and it's then that Dean realizes just how serious this all is, his mouth gaping open, shutting, then open again as he struggles to think of what to say, what to do. They don't even tell him to move, just works on Seth around him before getting him on the stretcher and preparing for transport. "I- I'm comin' with," he finally grits out through dry lips, forcing his body to _move_ as they walk quickly to the waiting ambulance.

He isn't argued with, though he's squashed into a corner, watching with wide, desperate eyes as they work on stabilizing Seth- the seizing had stopped, thankfully, and Dean clings to what little good news there is. Seth is in and out, his eyes blinking open a time or two on the ride over, before slipping shut once more, and every glimpse of his confused gaze is both a relief and a fear because of just how short of a period of time it is. Once at the hospital, he's forced to wait outside while they run tests and settle Seth in a permanent bed once done, and it gives Dean the opportunity to use the hospital's wifi, see what exactly he missed, what led to this moment.

There are clips of the moment all over social media already. He watches over and over again with a sickening kind of clarity. Seth refusing the steel chair, Cesaro swinging it himself, Seth lunging forward and pushing Dean away- just to take the most brutal part of the steel to the delicate part of the body where the skull and neck meet, explaining the horrible loudness of the strike, the seizure, everything else. He paces, tugs at his lips. Tries to put together his memories of Seth in the Shield, Seth the betrayer, and this Seth- the apologizer, the... the...

He finally groans and hits his head against the wall, ignoring everything around him as he just tries to make _sense_ of it all. _The protector,_ he finally thinks, rubbing his head left to right against the uneven paintjob. "Dammit... Seth, you asshole, why are you still doing this shit to me..."

He's still standing there, fighting to breathe in and out somewhat normally, when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns and stares blankly at the nurse who struggles to smile at him. "Sir, we've stabilized him. You can go sit with him now."

"Is he..." Dean exhales. Runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more crazily. "Is he ok? The seizure-"

The nurse's smile slips a little. "He's unconscious," she admits. "But his vitals are steady, and he's breathing on his own. We're going to be in and out for awhile, running tests and scans. Keeping an eye on his vitals. But don't worry, he's getting the best care."

Dean swallows. Nods hard. "Alright," he murmurs, following her down the hall and to the left, staring in at Seth's prone body, just visible past a privacy curtain.

The nurse stands with him a few moments before resting her hand on his arm. "Whenever you want, you may go in. I'll just be down the hall if you need me."

"Thanks," he says vacantly, remembering the look on Seth's face after the chair shot. How vulnerable and pale he looked. "Shit," he whispers, forcing his feet forward, one numb step at a time until he's sitting in the chair next to Seth's bed, staring at him incredulously. He looks like Seth, but not quite, his lips pale and parted, his skin pasty and tight, and he's so still and quiet, it's impossible. "Idiot," he breathes out. "Why did you do that? Huh?" He scrubs at his face, lost in those moments when Seth seized at his feet, under his fingers.

"You _knew_ I didn't want any of this," he bursts out. "Not us working together, not this... constant struggle by you to make me trust you again. I was _fine!_ I was fine on my own against Miz and his stupid little goons but you had to involve yourself and..." He exhales. Hard. Realizes if he keeps talking, he's going to start screaming and get himself kicked out of the hospital. "I wanted none of this," he repeats, leaning in to stare at Seth's face. "You... just... you have to wake up, alright? Just stop torturing both of us and _wake_ the hell up!"

No response and he surges out of the chair, tugging at his hair. "I didn't want that match," he babbles. "Angle just had to force things by giving us a tag title match. I mean, what the hell was that? Can't these GMs just focus on their own bullshit drama and leave the rest of us alone?" He stares coldly at Seth. "Of course _you_ were all excited about it, 'Thank you Mr. Angle!' blahblah... Like you didn't know it'd go terrible. _Anyone_ could've seen it but you keep thinking this stuff is going to fix things between us. The crowd wanting it, you wanting it, nothing is going to fix this little voice deep in my head reminding me that you're the most disingenuous son of a bitch I've ever met, and I've met a _lot_ of them in this business."

He keeps pacing, digging his hands in his hair. "But dammit, man, the look on your face. Not just... not just tonight. You're _so_ desperate for my forgiveness, and I can't- I can't do it, can't you get that? I tried trusting James and he proved to be just as pathetic and desperate as you were." He stares at Seth's prone form. "Fool me once, shame on you... fool me twice..." It's the worst kind of verbal vomit, the sorts only Seth could inspire in him. He hates himself more and more for letting this bug him so badly, but dammit. Seth's _face_ , so determined, so settled in his decision to leap- to save Dean from that chair. He can't get it out of his mind, overwhelming everything else- three years ago, the chair to Roman, to Dean, severing their brotherhood. "Why do you keep doing this to me?"

He drops back in the chair and grabs Seth's hand, idly tracing it, pressing in enough to tickle against the fine lines of his palm. "You open your eyes right now. Tell me I'm an idiot, tell me something to make me hate you all over again. Come on, I dare you." But he's so tired of fighting this. So exhausted of struggling against Seth's need for forgiveness and his own weakening resistance, his heart always trying to out-speak his brain. He rests his forehead against their hands and breathes deeply. _Can I survive one more time?_

He's still leaning there when he feels something twitch against his nose. A shuddering kind of breath next to him. Then a dry, cracked kind of whisper. "Dean..." His eyes shoot open and he stares at Seth's shifting fingers. Seth's face twists as he struggles to open his eyes, his heart rate spiking and making the monitors beep warningly. "De- Dean- Dea-" He's panicking, lost in memories and who knows what else, and Dean drops his hand, leaning over to press his palm against Seth's chest.

"Hey calm down or the nurses are gonna think I'm doing something to you." He gentles his touch when Seth turns his head towards him, then moans hard, the pain probably excruciating. "I'm gonna call a nurse, you're gonna be ok." He presses the button and then watches as Seth fights to finally get his eyes open a sliver, working too hard to focus on him. "See, I'm ok," he insists. "You're the one who took a chair to the back of the head and had a damn seizure, man."

Seth stares at him, not comprehending this for a moment. Finally murmurs, "Was worth it."

"Idiot," Dean chides him. Pats him maybe a little too roughly before getting up, staring out of the window. He can hear the nurse approaching and knows he has to say this or he'll never give it proper weight again. "Get healthy," he says to the pane of glass peering out over the park across the street from the hospital. "If we get another opportunity at the tag belts, we're gonna take it." He turns to Seth, staring back at him with his arms crossed over his chest. "And we're going to win."

Seth nods. "Sounds... good to me," he forces out through numb lips.

Dean walks back towards him, gaze fixed. Hand outstretched, curled into a fist. The crowd isn't egging him on now, there's nothing between them but this determination, this need to finally get payback on Cesaro and Sheamus for all that they've done the last few months. This acceptance of forgiveness. "C'mon, brother," he says quietly, eyes clearing when Seth raises his hand, trembling against the post-seizure weakness, and presses his fist to Dean's, a meaningful glance passing between them just before the nurse enters to fuss over Seth.


End file.
